


Perchance to Dream

by cimorene



Series: To Sleep [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cimorene/pseuds/cimorene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tiny snippet of missing scene in <em>The Two Towers</em> book canon: a night in a tree on the way to Mordor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> For irisbleufic's birthday, 2003.

The leaves shifted in the passing of a breeze and at his side, Sam shifted with less sound. "Sam, go to sleep," Frodo whispered. It was hard, just here, in the forest, to remember the evil of the land they walked. The leaves would show emerald green when the sun rose, and his belly was, well, not full, but not empty, either.

"Not when you can't sleep, Mister Frodo," Sam hissed back, and shifted again, shoulders and sleeves bumping up against each other. Frodo let himself lean into Sam's solid warmth for a weak moment, felt muscles melting in the false promise of security. Nothing was safe.

But he smiled, "We're supposed to take it in turns, Sam."

"Not if you don't never take your turn," Sam said stubbornly. "You haven't been eating nor sleeping--"

"--Sam, I ate just--"

"_Excepting_ what I force you take." Poor Sam sounded injured.

Frodo sighed and let his head fall on Sam's shoulder again.

He was so tired, so very tired. "If I could sleep," he murmured dazedly, "I would for you, Sam." Sometimes when he sat awake at night, watching Sam sleep or pretend to sleep, listening in vain for any sound--sometimes he thought he was asleep, and sometimes, like now, the distinction seemed to have less importance than others. These were things not to be said in light of day.

Sam took his hand and squeezed it. "If I could--" his whisper was hoarse, and he stopped. "I wish you hadn't never come here, Mister Frodo. If I could give you my sleepin' and stay awake for you, or take the ring for you, or--"

Sam, he thought, my sweet Sam. He shook his head against the sturdy shoulder, and he knew Sam felt it, for the choked words cut off. There was a little silence, just the two of them and the drowsing of the tree around them, before he squeezed Sam's hand back. From the little startle in the muscles under his cheek, Sam hadn't expected it, and Frodo smiled again.

"These are dark times, Sam," he whispered sadly, and lifted his face. "We'd all change things if we could." There wasn't more than a hint, a little silver whisper, of moonlight to touch Sam's face, which had been made for nothing but golden sun. Frodo turned his head and closed his eyes and blotted even that out. Maybe the touch of his lips on Sam's was an accident, and maybe it wasn't. Sam gave a little gasp, a breathless little pause against his lips, and then opened his mouth, where he'd somehow stored, with a clumsy slick heat, some of the sun of the shire. It made Frodo hungry and homesick. Oh, it had been too long since he'd seen it, and he never would again. Sam was all he had left of home, here. And he feared to use Sam up.

"Oh, Frodo," Sam might have said, or it might have just been the natural growth of a tiny kiss, a spark of gold, a little bit of life to be sheltered by Sam (who else?) in this wide cold land of death.


End file.
